


shards of your heart

by f_vikus



Series: shards of your heart [2]
Category: Constantine
Genre: Depression, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-23
Updated: 2013-11-23
Packaged: 2018-01-02 11:06:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1056036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/f_vikus/pseuds/f_vikus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chas breaks.  John watches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	shards of your heart

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed warnings. May be triggery for some.

 

 

**1**

He didn’t succeed.  He never would’ve guessed that John finally swallowed his pride and asked for help.  From Midnite too, of all things.  Nothing ever escapes Midnite.

Chas is tired.

He wants to beg John to let him go, but his voice isn’t working, and his body isn’t either.  John looks at him with such betrayal in his eyes, and Chas wants to scream _I would die for you_ but decides against it. 

 John wouldn’t die for him.  John has no such loyalties.  Unlike him.  

Chas is forever loyal to John. He had a life once.  Sure, it wasn’t much of a life, but at least it was his.  But now, his life belongs to exorcisms John performs.  Belongs to the _things_ John sends back to hell.  Belongs to John.   

Chas is forever chained to John.

 

 

 

**2**

And he’s not good enough.  Not these days anyways.  John’s fuse is shorter, and his silences longer.  Chas has the unbearable need to fill the silence.  He sees the silence, the swirling darkness like breath in cold air, and then he’s so afraid. 

_The silence ate his mother._

He wonders if John sees the silence.  Then he realizes that John is the silence, is the ice that coats the apartment windows.  Chas can never tell if John’s pissed at him, and so he babbles. And still John doesn’t talk.  Not to him anyways.

_The silence turned his mother._

Maybe it’s his fault.  He’s good at this, turning the guilt inward.  His mother, before she _changed,_ always said he was endothermic.  Endothermic, the sucking of heat inwards.  The sucking of life inwards.  Now he wonders if that’s what she really meant, him draining her until she became unrecognizable. 

And then, with frightening clarity, he realizes that eventually, he’ll bleed John dry. 

 

**3**

Chas knows they end here.  Up on the bridge, miles up from the ocean, and Chas feels like flying.  There are no stars tonight, no birds, no cars.  Like the whole world’s been waiting for this, this _finale_ , and Chas understands.  The world is letting him leave. 

“Chas.”  John is leaning over the railing, hands gripping the rails tightly.  “Don’t be stupid.”  His coat flaps wildly behind him, and Chas is reminded of a raven. 

John’s not letting him leave.  John is reaching for him, arm outstretched.  Chas stares at the pale hand, the long slender fingers.  In another world, John would’ve been a concert pianist.  An artist. 

In another lifetime, John would’ve loved Chas.  

“Go away,” Chas says, listlessly.

“Chas,” John grinds out.  “You don’t like heights.  You don’t even like the dark.” 

“Neither do you.”  Chas takes his hands off the railing and balances on the ledge.  He’s not facing John but he can see alarmed expression clear as day. 

 

_Jump._

Chas thinks of Gabriel, of Balthazar, and how similar their voices sound, and wonders maybe if this madness was their doing.  

“Chas.”

Chas closes his eyes. 

“Come back with me.”  It was John’s way of pleading with him.  Chas has never seen John so broken.  This is not the John that spit fire and blood and Latin like he speaks English.  This is not the John that curses him out and feeds him breakfast.

John’s changed.

_And so did I,_ thinks Chas.  He’s broken John, and Chas feels inexplicable sorrow at this.  _I didn’t mean to,_ he cries in his head, and somehow John’s hand is on his shoulder, a solid weight.

“Please, Chas.” 

John’s hand finds his and Chas carefully turns himself around on the ledge.  His hand is warm, despite the freezing wind, and Chas marvels at how they fit together.  How their palms touched with familiarity even though John’s never touched him like this before.  With care, and Chas tries to ignore the regret in his heart.

“Sorry, John,” Chas says.  “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Chas,” John’s eyes widen with realization and he reaches out for him, ignores the rush from lurching forward, reaches for him only to grab air.

  _I love -_

Chas lets go.

John finally wakes up.

 


End file.
